


Una Celebración de la Vida y la Muerte

by Hexalys



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universes, Day of the Dead, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Short Stories, Talking To Dead People, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexalys/pseuds/Hexalys
Summary: This is a collective series of works, one-shots, short stories, and AUs based on the beautiful movie, Coco. There are spoilers.





	1. First Pieza: Proud Corazón

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own nor, can I take any no credit whatsoever, for the perfection that is Coco.
> 
> Let me start by saying that there are SPOILERS for the film in this fic, obviously, so if you haven't seen the movie yet, go do so now! With that aside, I absolutely adore this masterpiece. Pixar/Disney really hit it out of the park you guys. It's definitely one of my new favorites. As such, I've caught Coco malaria, a more advance illness of Coco fever, so I had to write this even though I had no desire to post anymore stories at this point.
> 
> That said, I am an American with a very rudimentary grasp on Spanish and Mexican culture in general. All of my translations will come from Google, which can be pretty unreliable. If I offend anyone, I want to apologize in advance. Please feel free to correct my likely butchering of this lovely language.
> 
> Now, I'm not sure where I want to go with this fic. At the moment it's going to be a bunch of one-shots and short stories. I have a few AUs planned and I'll attempt to come up with a sequel-ish plot. Mainly, this is just an outlet for all the feels, inspiration, and adulation Coco has stirred within me.
> 
> The title for this fic is supposed to translate to A Celebration of Life and Death. While the chapter itself is titled First Piece: Proud Heart.

Miguel could see them. The thirteen-year-old stared, his mouth slightly agape as a few translucent, glowing skeletons walked past him. He whirled to Señor Mès, eyes wide as he instinctively reached out to touch the man. His hand didn't go through the vendor, thank goodness, but that left Miguel standing there awkwardly as Señor Mès frowned at him.

"Aha, I'll see you tomorrow Señor." The boy laughed self-consciously as he rubbed the back of his neck and offered the surly looking man an apologetic smile. "Gracias for the churro!" Miguel called over his shoulder as he sped away, rushing back to his home, said churro practically crushed in his tight grip. After passing two alleyways, he spotted Dante stumbling over some trashcans, and he quickly crouched down next to his dog. "Here, boy." He feed the Xolo his now squashed snack, grinning widely. "Dante, I can see them!" He exclaimed in a loud whisper, both hands framing the Alebrije's face. "I can see the dead! This means I'll be able to see my family!" He cheered and was rewarded with several licks from his best friend. "Haha, c'mon, vámonos! Maybe we can catch them at the cemetery!"

Together, the boy and his dog raced down the cobblestoned streets of Santa Cecilia. As they moved, Miguel called out greetings and waved to both people and skeletons as they passed, chuckling at the confused and shocked looks he got in return. He dodged the spirits when he could, still remembering how unpleasant it had been to watch someone pass through him last year, and reached the cemetery in record time. He stumbled after Dante as they headed towards the bridge made up of marigold flower petals, but Miguel came to a sudden stop when he saw that the bridge wasn't there.

"What the–" He furrowed his brows, confusion only furthering as more ghosts suddenly appeared at the edge of the graveyard, mere steps away from where he was sure the bridge was supposed to be. With more caution, Miguel slowly approached the spot where the skeletons were materializing from, frowning heavily. All he saw was unplotted ground, and then the stone wall that encircled the graveyard. "Dante?" The thirteen-year-old muttered as he turned to look down at his dog. Dante barked twice before dashing forwards, where he then vanished before Miguel's very eyes. "Dante!?" He rushed forwards, nearly bumping into a lady skeleton as she appeared in front of him. "Whoa, s-sorry Señora." He stuttered before offering her an apologetic smile. The lady stared at him in surprise. "You haven't seen my dog, have you?"

The lady looked behind her, as if checking to make sure that Miguel was truly talking to her, before she offered a hesitant nod.

"Really? Great, where is he?" The lady's eye-sockets pitched forward together in confusion.

"Right there, rolling around on the bridge." She said as she pointed at a spot beyond the stone wall. "Can't you see him?"

"On the bridge?" Miguel repeated, staring at the location she'd pointed at. Squinting his eyes didn't help, nor did turning his head at an angle. He saw nothing. "Sorry, but I… I don't think I can see the bridge." He admitted after a moment, thinking hard. "I guess I can only see you guys when you've crossed over."

"Oh." The lady didn't seem to know what to make of that and Miguel offered her another, single-dimpled smile.

"Hehe, sorry to bother you. I hope you have a nice time visiting your familia." She smiled back at him.

"Gracias niño." He waved goodbye as she passed and turned back to the bridge.

"Dante!" He called, brown eyes searching for his pet as more skeletons passed him by. "Come on boy, I can't stay here much longer. I have to get home soon!" Miguel stood there for several more minutes, waiting for either Dante or his family, but he saw neither. He sighed and turned around, hurrying back home so that he wouldn't get scolded by his Abuelita for being late. His family had been sort of anxious all day, and with good reason.

It was Día de los Muertos, and it was on this very day last year that Miguel had had the biggest fight with his family ever. It was something he regretted now, and he knew his family did too, especially his Abuelita. They had both done and said mean things to each other. On that day, Miguel had revealed his love for music and his family had reacted in the way he'd always feared. His Abuelita had even destroyed the guitar he had salvaged from the trash years ago.

Now though, things were different. After his adventures in the Land of the Dead, he had come to learn that somethings were more important than music. And when he'd returned, Miguel had taught his family that music was not the curse they'd all believed it was. This Día de los Muertos would be the first time in four generations that the Rivera familia would play music for the festival! Miguel was going to reveal the song he'd been working on in private, Proud Corazón, which he'd written in honor of his deceased ancestors. The thought of his skeletal relatives made him whoop with excitement. He couldn't wait to see them again!

Miguel made it back home with a few minutes to spare. He paused outside the ofrenda, hoping to catch a glimpse of his familia, but nobody, either dead or living, was inside the small room. With a slightly disappointed sigh, he headed towards the kitchen. His Mamá was seated at the table, feeding his baby sister, Socorro.

"Hola Miguel." Mamá greeted once she caught sight of him.

"Hola Mamá." He stepped forwards to pat his sister on her head. "Hola Bebé Coco." His sister had been named after their great-grandmother, who'd sadly passed away a month before Bebé Coco had been born. His sister laughed, her brown eyes shining as she reached out to him. The only thing the deterred Miguel from picking her up was the mess of smashed carrots covering her hands and face.

"Have you seen your Abuelita?" He shook his head.

"No, not yet. Do you know where she is?"

"I think I saw her heading towards the workroom a few minutes ago." Mamá answered with a slight smile.

"Okay, I'll go check there now." He said before he leaned down to place a kiss on Bebé Coco's soft black hair. He walked, not ran, to the shop. He'd gotten yelled at enough times for running around indoors that the lesson stuck subconsciously. "Abuelita?" He called as he stepped inside the workshop. "Are you here?"

"Sí mijo. Back here!" He quickened his pace and took the corner that led to the backroom. "Ay, come, come! I have a regalo for you."

"A gift?" He questioned. Abuelita seemed to be shuffling some boxes around. There should only be shoeboxes and containers for extra materials, but Abuelita turned towards him carrying a brightly wrapped present with a white bow. He took it eagerly and tore through the flashy paper. Lifting the lid to the box, Miguel gasped at what was in inside.

"Sorpresa!" Abuelita shouted and he glanced at her, mouth agape.

"Abuelita, t-this is–"

"Your own charro suit! Now you'll look like a real músico when you play tonight!" Miguel reverently lifted the dark red jacket out of the box, his hands delicately tracing the white patterns sown into the soft fabric. Gold buttons lined the coat and decorated the handcuffs. Tucked in the fold of the jacket was a ribbon, a mariachi moño, which was a bright dazzling gold. He looked back up at his grandmother, tears forming in his eyes.

"Gracias, Abuelita, muchas gracias. I love it." Miguel said softly, trying hard not to cry. He caught Abuelita wiping away a few stray tears as she smiled at him.

"Bah, think nothing of it mijo. You deserve this." Miguel quickly pulled her into a hug and chuckled as she peppered his face with half a dozen kisses. "Now, go put that in your room. You can change into it later." With a beaming expression, Miguel rushed to his room, slowing down only after Abuelita yelled after him. His trek to his bedroom was a speedy hobble that looked somewhat like Papá Héctor's shambled gait.

Reaching his room, Miguel quickly closed his door behind him and laid his present on his bed. He carefully removed his suit, pausing to marvel over his jacket once again, before laying it as neatly as he could on his bedspread. He then took out his mariachi moño, delicately folding the fabric to avoid wrinkles. Next, he pulled out the white camisas, which he didn't dare unfold, and set the dress shirt down gently beside the other articles of clothing. Next came the pants, which matched his jacket, being colored a dark red and patterned in white etchings along the seams. A gold sash to go around his waist came next and he placed it next to his bow tie.

At the bottom of the box was pair of botines crafted from black leather and shone so well Miguel could practically see his reflection. He smiled, recognizing the boots as one of their own famous Rivera shoes, and wondered which one of his family members had made them. He noticed that there was no sombrero, but Miguel could hardly care about that when he had his own mariachi suit. He was tempted to put the outfit on now, but knew he needed to get ready for dinner first. Changing into a nice white buttoned shirt and black dress pants, he made his way out into the family courtyard to help with setting everything up.

Miguel kept an eye on the archway, the gate already flung open with a trail of marigold petals leading from the street, into their home, and up to the ofrenda. He saw several skeletons pass, but still there was no sign of his family or Dante. His Mamá came out when they nearly finished getting everything ready, holding Bebé Coco who was wearing a cute pink and white dress that Abuelita had sewn for her.

"Mamá, can I show Bebé Coco the ofrenda? I want to introduce her to our family."

"Of course, mijo." Mamá answered as she handed Coco to him with a proud smile. Tickling his baby sister, Miguel brought her up to the ofrenda, listing each of his family members and point them out to her. "And up at the top is Mamá Imelda, Papá Héctor, and Mamá Coco. We put their pictures up and pass down their stories so that they won't be forgotten." Miguel turned when he felt a hand land on his shoulder and saw Abuelita place a newer picture of Mamá Coco on the bottom shelf. Smiling sadly, he drew her into a hug.

The festivities began not long after that. Tamales, pan dulce, taquitos, and so much more were on platters on the banquet table. Lights and papel picados were strung up, each with different color's and designs. Lit candles were on every ledge, tucked into nooks and crannies, leaving almost no room for shadows in the courtyard. Carrying Bebé Coco, Miguel chatted with his family, smiling and laughing as the older generations shared stories of his deceased relatives.

It was almost an hour into the festivities, when the sun was setting, that Miguel spotted his spiritual ancestors enter the courtyard. It took everything the boy had not to race over to Papá Héctor when he spotted his great-great-grandfather holdings hands with Mamá Imelda and Mamá Coco. Instead, he nonchalantly made his way over to the apparitions of his relatives, his face breaking into a wide grin when he saw that he had been spotted.

"Miguel! Chamaco! Mijo!" Papá Héctor cheered loudly as he went to rush out and hug the boy, only to be stopped abruptly as Mamá Imelda grabbed the back of his vest.

"Idiota, he can't see us." She scolded her husband and Héctor gave a sheepish laugh while rubbing the back of his head.

"Oh, right."

"And who's this little one?" Mamá Coco asked as Miguel reached the group. He smiled at his great-grandmother, keeping his voice low.

"This is Bebé Coco, Mamá Coco." He answered happily, nearly laughing at the stunned looks on his familia's faces. At least this time Papá Héctor's eyeballs didn't drop into his mouth.

"Wait– What?!" Héctor yelled while Mamá Imelda simply gaped at him.

"Hehe, surprise?" The thirteen-year-old chuckled.

"You can see us?! How?" Miguel shrugged.

"I don't know. When the bells rang, I could suddenly see all the spirits. I can't see the bridge though, or anything beyond it." He admitted, frowning again at that thought before beaming once more. "I missed you all so much!"

"Ay, us to mijo." Tía Rosita said as she reached out to give him a one-armed hug. She let out a slight squeak when her arm went right through him and Miguel tried not to shudder at the strangeness of seeing her hand jutting through his side.

"We can't touch you." Mamá Imelda stated with a frown and the boy shook his head, smiling sadly.

"Doesn't look like it. But at least I get to see you, and talk to you! That's more than I could've hoped for!"

"Miguel!" His Papá called from the other end of the courtyard. "Come here mijo, your mother and I have something for you."

"Coming Papá!" He turned back to his skeletal relatives. "I gotta go, but I'll come back to talk to you guys later, okay?"

"Go on mijo." Papá Julio said from where he had an arm wrapped around Mamá Coco. "We're not going anywhere." With a wide smile, Miguel left to meet up with his parents, whispering to his baby sister as he moved.

"I know you couldn't see them, but that was our family. I'm sure they'll want to meet you later." Once he reached their parents, he handed Coco over to Mamá. "What did you want to give me, Papá?" His parents shared a fond look before his Papá pulled something out from under the clothed table. He gasped.

"What kind of mariachi would you be without a sombrero?" Papá teased as he held out a dark red hat with intricate white stitching around the brim.

"Oh, Papá." With a slightly shaky hand, Miguel took the sombrero, marveling over it's beauty before gazing up at his parents. "Gracias!"

"Go change mijo. Everyone can't wait to hear you play." Mamá hummed as she leaned forwards to place a kiss on his forehead. Heading towards the house, Miguel spared a wave to his deceased relatives before hurrying onto his room. He quickly changed, only to end up staring at his reflection for several minutes. He looked like a real musician! With an excited grin, Miguel put on his hat and raced off to the workshop to retrieve Papá Héctor's guitar from where it was now displayed. It was agreed by the family, after they'd revealed De La Cruz's lies to the world, that Papá Héctor's guitar should become a family heirloom. Miguel was sure his family wouldn't mind him borrowing it just for tonight though.

Racing back out into the courtyard, the boy paused at the doorway, just taking in the sight of his whole family being together. With a toothy smile he let out a loud grito, catching the hold yard's attention and even getting a grito in return from Papá Héctor. He strummed the first few notes of Proud Corazón, before taking a deep breath and began to sing.

" _Say that I'm crazy or call me a fool_." With a smile he walked past his parents, stopping by his spiritual family. " _But last night it seemed that I dreamed about you._ " He gave them a slight bow before turning back to the rest of the courtyard. " _When I opened my mouth, what came out was a song. And you knew every word and we all sang along!_ _To a melody played on the strings of our souls. And a rhythm that rattled us down to the bone._ " He almost laughed when he spotted Dante making off with some food from the banquet table. " _Our love for each other will live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón. Our love for each other will live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón._ "

With a belting shout he played faster, sang louder, and danced around his relatives. Miguel's smile widened even further when Papá Héctor stepped forwards, his hands seemingly going through his guitar only to pull back with a spiritual copy of his own. Together, they played, and it was everything Miguel could have hoped for.

" _Ay mi familia, oiga mi gente! Canten a coro, let it be known! Our love for each other will live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón! Ay mi familia, oiga mi gente! Canten a coro, let it be known! Our love for each other will live on forever, in every beat of my proud corazón!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you go, a rehashed version of the epilogue. Honestly, the only thing that bummed me out was that Miguel couldn’t see/interact with the dead Rivera’s. In my headcanon, he can see and talk to his relatives every Dia de los Muertos. As I said this is just a one-shot. The next chapter, and the few following it, should be a short story. If there’s any kind of scenario or prompt that you guys want me to write, tell me in a comment.
> 
> –Hexalys


	2. Second Pieza: Pesadillas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know that I said my next update would be a short story, but I decided to quickly write up this request seeing as it’s another short one-shot. 
> 
> Prompt from revvit31: “1) Héctor, since he died, has been having bad dreams, but with no one to comfort. Now, while with his family, he has a serious nightmare and Imelda is there to comfort him. 2) Héctor tries to get used to having family to rely on.”

Héctor smiled down at Coco, his fingers strumming the lullaby he'd written her. His little girl was already partly dozing, her big brown eyes fighting valiantly against sleep even as her body curled up under her blankets. He softly hummed the last few words instead of singing out loud, seeing as that would be counterproductive. Finally, with one last yawn, she fell into slumber.

Héctor lowered his guitar and bent downwards to place a kiss on her forehead. Dios, did he love his sweet mija. She truly was the most precious thing in his life. Smirking fondly, Héctor quietly made his way out of her bedroom, taking extra care with closing her door as it had started to creak slightly. Making a mental note to grease the hinges tomorrow, the músico treaded down the hallway to the kitchen.

He paused in the archway when he spotted Imelda. She wore a hard expression, a glare that always reminded Héctor of her Papá, and he held back a flinch. He hated it when she looked at him like that. Imelda's Papá, Santiago Fernández, had disapproved of him from the very start, stubbornly certain that an orphaned, lowly, músico would never be good enough for his only daughter. The look his wife wore now carried that same disdainful disappointment.

"Imelda–"

"Did you put her to bed?" She cut him off and he frowned at her terse tone.

"Sí. She fell asleep within minutes."

"And? What are you still doing here?" She demanded angrily.

"Mi ángel–" Héctor began, taking a step towards his wife and reaching out to pull her into a hug. He was stunned when she slapped his hand away.

"No, no! Don't call me that!" She shouted, her voice resonating with both hurt and frustration. "You don't get to call me that when you're abandoning us!"

"Never." Héctor denied firmly as he forcibly tugged her into a tight embrace. She fought him all the way, her fists pounding against his arms, his chest, and his shoulders. He didn't care. She could beat him black and blue, until his very bones broke, but he'd never let her shut him out. "Imelda, mi ángel, I am not abandoning you and Coco. I would sooner die!" The fight left her at that declaration, her entire body slumping into his as she tucked her head under his chin. "I love you both so much. You're my entire world."

"…Then why are you leaving?" She asked in a whisper and Héctor squeezed her a little harder in a wordless attempt at comfort. There were many things he could've said. He had several reasons for going on the road with Ernesto, but none of them seemed significant in the face of her blatant misery.

"I–" He was interrupted by a sudden, stabbing pain in his stomach and Héctor doubled over, his arms now bereft of his beloved wife. "M-Mi á-ángel?" He stuttered, gritting his teeth at the onslaught of agony. He glanced up, the floor and walls of their home now gone, replaced with stucco walls from buildings and a cobblestoned street. Several feet ahead of him was Imelda, her back turned to him. The músico collapsed to his knees, barely noticing the open suitcase, its contents spilled out beside him. Set close to his other side was his cherished skeletal guitar, looking rather forlorn in a nearby streetlamp's flickering light. "I-Imelda?" He gasped.

"You deserve this." She hissed without turning around. The searing hatred in her voice was foreign to his ears and more painful than the persisting ache in his stomach. "You deserve to be forgotten." Héctor stared at her with disbelieving eyes, unable to understand why she was saying such horrible things.

"I agree." He turned as well as he could at the sound of his best friend's voice. Ernesto dipped downwards, and for a moment Héctor thought his friend was going to help him up, but Ernesto merely picked up his skeletal guitar. "An instrument as bueno as this shouldn't be wasted on such a tonto."

"E-Ernesto, mi a-amigo–"

"You don't mind if I take this, do you?" He held up Héctor's red song book, smiling in a way that he'd never seen before.

"Coco is better off without you." Imelda stated coldly, not even glancing back as she shattered his heart. "You are no longer part of this familia."

"I-Imelda, E-Ernesto, p-please–" He didn't understand what was happening. Why weren't they helping him? Couldn't they see that he was in pain? Héctor struggled to stay on his knees, and his hands slapped hard against the ground to keep himself from falling over. He nearly shrieked when he caught sight of them.

Instead of flesh, the sound of something solid clacked loudly against stone. Yellow bones laid out before him, cracked and brittle, and Héctor could only stare at them in horror. His head shot up, frantically searching for his wife, only to reel backwards as Ernesto's ivory white skull hovered inches in front of him. There was something dark in his friend's face and it left him almost unrecognizable.

"I would move heaven and earth for you." He glanced down and Héctor followed his gaze, but where he expected to see shot glasses, he saw a struggling Miguel trapped in Ernesto's grip. "No hard feelings, old friend." And then Miguel, his little chamaco, was thrown over the edge of the Marigold Bridge, where he disappeared into the abyss. Héctor lunged forwards, his arms desperately reaching outwards, but he found himself collapsing instead as a golden light flashed over his body, leaving his bones to rattle loudly in protest.

"No, no! Miguel, chamaco!" He could hear his great-great-grandson's screams and it tore the músico apart. He fought to pull himself towards the ledge, but there seemed to be no strength left in his limbs. He sank into the mass of petals; his vision quickly being consumed by orange.

"– _tor!_ "

"Mijo! Mijo!" Pathetically, his arms shook as he tried to dig himself free. He couldn't cross the bridge, he knew that. Only those with their pictures on ofrendas could cross the bridge.

"– _éctor!_ "

"Por favor, Dios, pleas no. Miguel!" The golden glow got brighter as his whole body spasmed. For a moment, he thought he could see his bones beginning to break down into glittering dust. "Miguel!"

" _Héctor! Mi amor, please wake up!_ "

Héctor jolted, his entire body lunging upwards, his bones shuddering with fear. With an overwhelming sense of terror, his eyes darted around him in search of Miguel. He couldn't find the boy though, and a panicked sob escaped the músico's mouth at the thought of what had become of his great-great-grandson. Arms wrapped around the man, and he flinched, suddenly afraid that Ernesto had come back to throw him off the Marigold Bridge as well.

"Husband, please be calm. It was just a pesadilla." Héctor stilled at his wife's voice, hardly noticing the worry it held as he tried to right himself. Pesadilla? Just a nightmare? A quick glance around his surroundings proved that he was in Imelda's bedroom, now their bedroom. Relief filled the músico as he gave an unsteady exhale. He buried his skull into his trembling hands, but the action provided little comfort. He could still see Miguel's terrified face, hear the hatred in Imelda's voice, and feel Ernesto's poison tearing through his insides.

Nightmares were not a new thing for Héctor. While sleep wasn't necessary for those who were well remembered, it was different for the ones being slowly forgotten. Exhaustion had plagued him over the last decade or so and Héctor had found himself nodding off every so often, not out of freewill, but from necessity. Most of those unwanted siestas had been haunted by bad memories or the horrible imaginings his mind could conjure. Rarely had he dreamt of happier moments, though he deeply treasured those scarce dreams about his dearest Coco.

Now that his mija remembered him, and was passing on those memories to the rest of the Rivera's, the músico was no longer the shambled skeleton he used to be. Gone were the yellowed, broken, fragile bones. He wasn't quite as white as Imelda, but his overall condition was much better than what it used to be. His ribs, which had gained quite a few fractures over the years, were solid once more. The bandages that were wrapped in numerous places on his body were no longer needed. And best of all, he no longer had that estúpido limp.

"Héctor?" He jerked backwards as Imelda suddenly touched his jaw, though the gesture had been beyond gentle. "Oh mi amor…" He swallowed hard, a sensation that had always felt odd seeing as he had no throat, and gave her a weak smile.

"Heh, sorry about that." He muttered, quickly coughing to clear his throat and continued in a stronger tone. "That was– uh, intense, right? That's the last time I eat tamales before going to bed. Hehe."

"Don't do that. Please." He froze at her woeful demeanor. "You were calling for me in your sleep. Miguel too." Suddenly, it became much too difficult to maintain eye contact.

"It– it was nothing." Héctor began haltingly, trying and failing to keep his voice level. "Just a pesadilla." He heard Imelda sigh and he cringed at how tired she sounded.

"Won't you let me help you? It's a wife's duty to comfort her husband."

"And it's a husband's duty to take care of his familia." He remarked bitterly, the words slipping out without any forethought. He immediately froze as he realized what he'd said aloud, just barely catching the stricken expression on his wife's face through the darkness. "I'm so sorry Imelda. I shouldn't have left all those years ago." He rushed to apologize, fearing his comment would stir up some form of lingering resentment. "It was stupid, selfish, brainless–"

"Héctor." She stated sternly, and he hunched up his shoulders, inwardly cursing himself a fool. "I don't ever want to hear you call yourself those things again, do you understand?" He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Good. Now, your pesadilla… what was it about?" He opened his mouth, unsure if he was going to lie or not, but nothing came out. "Please Héctor?"

"I was– it was– I–" He took a frustrated breath and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't understand why this was so hard. Granted, he hadn't really talked about anything personal for many decades. Everyone had a sad story down in the ghettos, but he'd always been too ashamed to tell his. It was only once, during those first few years, when he'd confided parts of his tale to a group of strangers after drinking several bottles of alcohol. That was how he'd gotten stuck with the nickname Chorizo. "I'm sorry, I haven't done this in a long time." He confessed, feeling both embarrassed and inadequate.

"It's alright." She laid a tentative hand over his, baring a sad smile. "I'm a bit out of practice too. How about you start with an easier part of your nightmare and we'll go from there?" Even with her encouragement, it still took Héctor several minutes to start speaking.

"…I dreamt about Coco." Just the memory of his perfect mija made him feel a bit more at ease. "I had just sung her to sleep. It– it was the night before I left." Though his dream had deviated soon after it had begun. While Héctor had embraced Imelda, in the past he'd told her why he felt he'd needed to leave them. They'd gone to bed that night holding each other until morning arrived. "Then the dream shifted to the night I died. I can still remember the pain in my stomach." Imelda squeezed his hand reassuringly. In a split-second decision, he chose not to tell his wife of her reappearance in his nightmare, nor of the things she'd said. "It changed again. Ernesto had thrown Miguel off the Marigold Bridge, and I couldn't reach him. I couldn't–" He made a choking noise, feeling his helplessness returning with a vengeance.

"Hush my dearest. Miguel is safe." Imelda scooted closer to him and he brought her hand up to his mouth, placing a soft kiss on the back. He felts his nerves melt at the adoring look she gave him.

"Sí, and there's not a day that goes bye that I'm not grateful for that." He professed as he followed his wife's lead and settled back into bed. He found himself pressed close against her, her hand resting on his sternum as he gently ran his fingers through her hair. The action soothed him in a way he couldn't describe, and Héctor almost started crying from the sense of peace he felt at being back at Imelda's side. "I love you, mi ángel." He whispered a half an hour later, fully expecting her to be asleep.

"And I you, mi idiota enamorado."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how was that revvit31? I hope I did your prompt justice. I’ve already gotten a few other story requests from others, so don’t hesitate to make your own. Though I can’t promise I’ll get to writing them all down as quickly as I did this one.


	3. Third Pieza: Another Maldición Parte I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I got a couple more requests from you guys, which is awesome! But I did promise this short story, so I’ll get to writing up those prompts later. Now my short stories are all gonna be broken down into parts. For this one, I have about 4-5 chapters planned out, but depending on how things go, it could turn out to be longer or shorter than I expected.
> 
> Also, there’s a special guest appearing in the chapter! I’m so excited!

The Rivera familia, in all appearances, seemed happier and livelier than ever to the inhabitants of Santa Cecelia. For generations they'd been well-known as the family that hated music. They hadn't been outcasts exactly, but the Rivera's had become something of a peculiarity that the locals gossiped over. Now, much to the town's growing curiosity, something had obviously changed that status quo.

Many believed, rightfully so, that it had to do with the Enrique's son, Miguel. The boy's love for music wasn't quite the secret he probably thought it was. Plenty of citizens had spotted Miguel hovering just out of view when Armando and His Acoustic Armadillos, a beloved local band, played in the town plaza. When the boy ran through the streets, he never failed to linger by musicians, and could be seen playing along on an imaginary guitar. It was an unspoken agreement among the populace that they kept Miguel's interest in music a secret from the rest of his familia. Especially from Elena, the Rivera's spirited, and slightly terrifying, matriarch.

The first sign Santa Cecelia got for the miraculous change, was when Miguel had walked through the plaza with a guitar on his back a week after Día de los Muertos. Even more shocking had been the proud expressions on his parents' faces when the boy had started playing. And the joven músico had been good, better than good. Miguel's talent with the guitar was talked about for weeks and the boy often drew in a large crowd whenever he played. Some of the older residents had started saying that the young Rivera was going to be the next Ernesto De La Cruz.

For some strange reason, the joven músico never seemed pleased to hear that comparison.

What the town didn't know, was that despite music now being accepted by the Riveras, Miguel was not as cheerful as the rest of his familia. Everyone had been overjoyed when he'd played a song for Mamá Coco, who temporarily gained a kind of clarity they hadn't seen in years. These trances didn't last long, and could only be triggered by Miguel's songs, but her moments of lucidity were overwhelmingly uplifting just the same.

Yet as the days passed, Miguel grew quiet and melancholy. The white guitar he had, which he'd apparently stolen from a mausoleum in the cemetery, was reclaimed in a rather distressing ordeal. The representatives of Ernesto De La Cruz, the previous owner of the guitar, had tried to press charges against them, but Miguel's declarations of the celebrity murdering one Héctor Rivera had stunned them into indecision. His claims likely would've been passed off as lies had they not had Mamá Coco's stories and a newly restored family photo to back him up. In the following weeks, an investigation was underway, though it was being kept quiet. De La Cruz was one of Mexico's greatest stars, no one wanted to sully the man's name until there was proof.

Where Miguel had been loud at first, professing the wrongs made against his great-great-grandfather, his zeal died down once they were told the matter was being explored. Without that injustice to focus on, the twelve-year-old seemed to withdraw in on himself, much to his family's confusion and concern. He got a new guitar, though it was clearly a well-cared for hand-me-down from the state of it. When Enrique had asked his son where he'd gotten it, afraid of experiencing a repeat like De La Cruz's guitar, the boy had solemnly replied that it was a gift from Chicharrón.

No one could understand why Miguel seemed so unhappy.

Unbeknownst to the Rivera's, the joven músico was haunted by his last moments in the Land of the Dead. The memory of Papá Héctor laying weakly in Mamá Imelda's arms, his body flashing gold, the signs of the Final Death closing in, invaded his dreams almost constantly. Miguel couldn't help but wonder if he'd made it in time. It had taken him a handful of minutes to get from the cemetery to Mamá Coco. Chicharrón had disappeared into a wave of golden dust much quicker than that. Not even knowing if Héctor was still in the afterlife was simply agonizing for the boy to live with.

Perhaps the worst part was that Miguel knew he couldn't talk to anyone about it. Even though his family celebrated Día de los Muertos and took it very seriously, he doubted even Abuelita would believe his adventures in the Land of the Dead.

He was so sick with concern, Miguel had even begun looking to the supernatural for help. He first tried asking Dante the fate of his great-great-grandfather, but though his dog was a proud Alebrije, this didn't make communication between them any easier. Miguel sometimes doubted that the silly but lovable Xolo even understood what he was asking. Then he tried getting himself cursed once more, but taking De La Cruz's guitar again had only gotten him yelled at and grounded. He tried taking Papa Julio's favorite hat, which had been stored with Mama Coco's things, but got no results.

Desperate after a month of worrying restlessly, the joven músico had finally decided to journey into an area of Santa Cecelia that was strictly forbidden: the Tugurios.

Miguel had heard the warnings from his relatives ever since he was little, though none had been more vocal or more superstitious than Abuelita. Down in the narrow streetways, hidden amongst the buildings, and tucked into back alleyways, it was rumored that black magic was practiced in secret. He had been told never to go there. He'd been raised on stories of brujas who would put him under some evil curse.

But a curse was exactly what Miguel was looking for.

So, nearly four weeks after meeting Papá Héctor, the twelve-year-old snuck out of the house one night after going to bed. He carefully made his way to the Tugurios, wearing a dark green sweatshirt with a hood to hide his face. There weren't too many people out, but some of them would've definitely recognized Miguel and could decide to bring him home. The deeper into the city he went, the more nervous he got at the thought of being caught. However, even the very real possibility of being grounded for a year wasn't even to deter the joven músico.

Miguel's steely resolve fled for a moment when a loud crash of tin trash cans hitting the ground blared from an alleyway he was passing. A high-pitched yelp left the boy, much to his embarrassment, and he whirled towards the sound. The streetlamps weren't bright enough for him to see very well, so he only caught the shadow of something moving. His trepidation was quickly put to ease though when he spotted a familiar Xolo.

"Oh Dante, it's just you." He breathed in relief while putting a hand to his chest. "You scared me boy." The dog, of course, was completely unapologetic as he raced forwards to lick Miguel's face. "Haha, okay, okay! I'm not mad." Pushing the dog off of him, he stood up and frowned in thought. Should he take Dante with him? It would certainly make him feel a little safer, but his dog wasn't exactly the most graceful of animals. The clumsy Alebrije could get him caught.

A tugging on his sweatshirt brought Miguel out of his musings. Dante had a firm hold of his sleeve in his mouth and was trying to pull him towards the direction of home. He was instantly reminded of the Land of the Dead, recalling a similar scenario when his Alebrije tried to get him to go back to Papá Héctor. The comparison birthed a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach, a combination of unease and doubt.

"No Dante, de alto." He argued, gently freeing his sleeve of the Xolo's teeth. "I know I shouldn't be out here boy, but I can't–" Miguel swallowed hard, the constant fear for his great-great-grandfather's fate returning stronger than ever. "I have to know what happened to Papá Héctor. I have to." Dante whined softly as he sat down, his ears tucked low against his head, which did nothing to soothe Miguel's fears. His dog always made that sorry, sad expression whenever he asked about Papá Héctor. "C'mon boy." He said softly, giving his loyal friend a scratch behind the ears.

With Dante close by his side, they crept through the streets, his face pinched in anxiety as they passed buildings that soon turned into rundown hovels. The Tugurios was the poorest district of their town and it showed. Maybe it was just the boy's imagination, but the shadows seemed to grow darker the further they got. He even thought he saw one of them moving, though none of the lights were flickering enough to cause such an effect. The fact that Dante growled at the shadow hadn't inspired much confidence in Miguel.

"It's mighty late for a boy like yourself to wander the streets alone." A deep voice called out, instantly startling the joven músico. He twirled around and spotted a tall, thin man carrying a cane and wearing a top hat with a skull and crossbones design. He stood at the mouth of a foreboding looking alley, where he was half covered in shadows. "Enchanté Miguel." The man greeted as he dipped into a bow and took off his hat. "A tip of the hat from Dr. Facilier." Miguel took a wary step backwards as Dante curled up behind his legs. The dog wasn't exactly growling, but he could tell the Alebrije did not like the stranger.

"H-How'd you know my name Señor?"

"Oh, I know much more than that. Like your exploits in the Land of the Dead." The man answered as he straightened up, sweeping long black hair under his hat. "See, like you, I too have friends on the other side. And there's not one soul there that hasn't heard the tale of the cursed boy, his poor ancestor, and the villainous De La Cruz." The man grinned down at him, and Miguel saw that there was a small gap between his two front teeth. "It's a bit strange to be famous amongst the dead before the living, non?" The twelve-year-old gave a nervous chuckle. It was kinda weird, though he'd never thought of it like that before. "I also know that people only journey to this part of Santa Cecelia for one thing."

"I–" Miguel cut off his automatic urge to lie and nodded slowly. "Sí, Dr. Facilier. I… I was wondering if someone here could help me."

"Well if I was a betting man, which I'm not I tend to stay away from games of chance, I'd wager that I could be of some assistance."

"Really?" The boy asked hopefully. Sure, Señor Facilier was a little spooky, but Miguel figured you had to be if you practiced magic.

"Step into my parlor, little mouche." The foreign word's meaning was lost on the boy, but he didn't pay it much mind. Facilier made an exaggerated gesture to come forwards, the man's eccentric demeanor putting him at ease a little, and cautiously approached the mouth of the alley. "Ah, I'm sorry to say your, uh, handsome looking canine friend can't come along. I have a pet of my own, you see, and he doesn't really get along with other animals."

"Oh." The boy said lowly, somewhat disappointed. He turned back to Dante, giving the Alebrije an apologetic frown. "Sorry boy. Wait here for me, okay? I won't be long." He turned to look up questionably at Facilier. "Right?"

"Not long at all." The man agreed with another smile. Dante whined once and shifted his paws nervously, but he sat down and looked prepared to stay until his return.

"Good boy, Dante." Miguel praised as he gave his dog a parting pat on the head. He stepped closer to Dr. Facilier, who wrapped an arm around his shoulder, leading him down the alleyway. The paint from the stucco walls was chipped and faded, revealing red and brown bricks underneath. Washed-out, tattered posters lined the way. It was too dark to see, but Miguel was certain he saw one with Ernesto's De La Cruz's face smiling back at him. Once they reached the end of the alley, there was a scuffed up purple door.

"Here we are, just let me get the lights." With a twirl of his cane, fire burst onto the wicks of three skull shaped candles that were over the door. They lit up a black sign fashioned after the man's hat, with the words _Dr. Facillier's Voodoo Emporium_ painted in white.

"Voodoo? You're a curandero, Señor?" The boy asked as he glanced up at the tall man.

"Oui mon ami." The man chuckled. "Now come, sit down at my table and put your mind at ease." The door creaked open on its own and Miguel quickly found himself to be more fascinated than afraid. While most of the furnishings inside the emporium weren't in the best conditions, it was still a sight to see. Colors of vibrant purples and greens filled the small space, the wallpaper was decorated with skulls, drapes and sashes were slung across the ceiling, urns and other pottery lined the floor and walls, but the most attention-grabbing items were the peculiar trinkets, numerous skulls, and handmade dolls.

"Whoa." Miguel breathed as his eyes darted around the area. "This is so cool!"

"Merci, little mouche, but you didn't come all the way here just to gawk at my wares." With a firm hand on his shoulder, the twelve-year-old was directed towards a circular table in the back. It had a bone patterned cloth stretched over it, with three wooden chairs; two close together on one side, with a slightly comfier looking chair on the other side. Masks were hung up on the back wall, some he recognized as the calaveras one could buy from the marketplace every Día de los Muertos, but others looked like those Tiki designs, or African American with tribal markings. Miguel, still distracted with the masks, missed how Facilier's shadow reached over and pulled the chair out. He also missed the dark grin that spread across the man's face. The curandero dropped into his seat, trusting his shadow to move it the few inches it need to go, and pulled out his stack of cards. "These cards will tell us the past, the present, and the future. Take three my little friend."

Miguel did as instructed and handed them over to Facilier, where the man laid them out face down on the table between them.

"Now, let's look deep into your heart and soul." The first card was flipped over, displaying a cartoon drawing of Miguel with Chicharrón's guitar and Papá Héctor by his side. "Ah, yes of course. You're here because of your time in the Land of the Dead. But–" Facilier switched over the next card. "you left at a grim moment, didn't you?" The image of Papá Héctor's pained face stared up at him, yet when Facilier spun it, the picture changed to himself looking upset and worried. "And you don't know if your great-great-grandfather is okay." The boy peered up at the curandero, who smiled reassuringly. "So now you're looking for a way to return to the Land of the Dead." He flicked over the last card, which showed a silhouette of Miguel crossing over the Marigold Bridge. "Luckily for you, I know just how to make your dreams come true."

"You can really do it? You can send me back to the Land of the Dead?!" Miguel asked excitedly.

"Yep, and all you have to do is shake my hand." The boy stared at the offered hand, his gaze darting up to the man suspiciously.

"What do you get out of this?"

"Me? Oh, I'm just helping out a friend on the other side." Miguel hesitated for another moment before plucking up his courage and shook hands, despite his better judgement.

"Yes." The curandero said triumphantly. "Are you ready?" For a second Miguel thought he could hear voices whispering above him in a drumming tune. He didn't have time to look behind him though as a giant snake lunged towards him from where it was hidden underneath the table.

"Aaah!" He screamed, rearing back in his chair as the large serpent quickly wrapped itself around him, keeping him stuck in the chair and unable to move. With wide eyes Miguel stared up as Dr. Facilier stalked towards him, the man's face now painted like a skeleton's. The curandero grabbed the joven músico's hand and help up a strange white skull pendant. To the boy's shock the pendants mouth opened and bit his finger. "Ouch! Hey, what are you doing?!"

"I hope you're satisfied, but if you ain't, don't blame me." Dr. Facilier leaned back, the skull pendant dangling at the end of a black cord. "You can blame my friend on the other side." Trapped, Miguel could only struggle and yell as a green light spilt out from the bite wound on his finger. The light shot upwards, enveloping him, and he felt the snake's hold on him loosen.

With that, Miguel blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “~Dum, dum, dum. Are ya ready!?”
> 
> So, this isn’t a long chapter, this was mostly just to set the stage for this cliffhanger. Now I know it breaks all sorts of canon to include Dr. Facilier here. While we weren’t told what timeframe when Coco takes place, you know it’s in the modern age. The Princess and the Frog took place in, what? The 1920s? Whatever. Nevertheless, when I first came up with this idea, I knew I wanted a witchdoctor to be involved from the very beginning, then my brained jumped to this wonderful Disney villain and the rest is history.
> 
> –Hexalys


	4. Third Pieza: Another Maldición Parte II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who took the time to leave a comment. I really appreciate it!
> 
> I’m so happy with the response I got from you guys about Dr. Facilier. I have to admit I’m pretty proud of myself for casting him in my AU. Now this, sadly, is the last chapter he’ll appear in this short story, but I do have a one-shot planned for him in the future that will be sort of a prologue to this Pieza.

Facilier chuckled to himself as he saw his magic engulf the young boy. He was a little curious about what Miguel would transform into. His "friend" hadn't specified what animal he wanted the child to be cursed as, so it was now a matter of chance. The little musician could end up as a frog or a zebra for all he knew. However, whatever the animal, his cursed form would reflect his age, so he shouldn't be too big.

The witchdoctor watched with a raised brow as the unconscious boy's body began to shrink in on itself, the Boa Constrictor pulling away with an approving hiss as it hovered nearby. A soft looking brown coat of hair started growing over the child's body, his limbs folding in on themselves as his hands and feet merged into black hooves. His face elongated, growing into a short muzzle, his hair turning brown like the rest of his pelt, while a pair of small black horns stick out at the top of his head.

Within seconds the human boy was replaced with a small goat.

"Hm, didn't expect that." Facilier commented uncaringly before turning to the snake, where he took a second to appraise the creature. It really was an impressive looking reptile. Its base coloring was a very dark grey, almost black, with splotchy patterns of lighter greys and white. It was long too, he estimated it was around twelve feet in length. "Well, I've completed my part of the deal." The constrictor slowly swiveled its head towards him, its tongue scenting the air as it regarded him coolly. "Now where's my payment?"

The snake dipped back under the table where it came up with a stuffed drawstring bag in its mouth. With another hiss the serpent dropped the pouch at his feet and Facilier's shadow was quick to scoop it up. The shade dutifully deposited the bag in his hands and the man eagerly opened it. Inside were priceless gems and old gold coins that would fetch a handsome price with museums or interested collectors.

"Haha, yes!" The witchdoctor exclaimed before glancing down at the serpent with a grin. "If you're master ever requires my services again, please don't hesitate to get in touch." Tucking the small fortune into his inner pocket, Facilier leaned on his cane with a smirk. "So, how did you plan on getting the brat to the Land of the Dead?" Without making any noise, the constrictor lunged forwards in the blink of an eye, the tail end of its thick body wrapping securely around the small goat's torso a few times. It slithered off the chair, where the goat followed with less grace as it crashed into the ground. "I suppose that's one way to do it."

"Ow… what happened…?" Miguel, who was woken up by his collision with the floor, groaned lowly. There was something tightly tied around his chest, feeling not unlike one of Abuleita's too tight hugs. Had he gotten tangled in his bed sheets again? That had actually been happening a lot lately. His sleep was either haunted by the memory of De La Cruz throwing him off that building, or of Papá Héctor disappearing into a cloud of gold dust.

Opening his eyes, the boy was met, not with the walls of his bedroom like he'd been expecting, but with skull patterned wallpaper and some pretty ominous looking masks that seemed to be glaring down at him. For a few seconds, Miguel didn't recognize where he was.

"Ah, awake, are we?" That distinct, deep voice helped the joven músico remember things pretty quickly. Dr. Facilier, that huge serpiente, the skull pendant, and– The memory of that green light had Miguel instinctively renew his struggling and he grunted in frustration when he found himself still trapped. A black dress shoe landed near his face, and the boy glared up at the curandero as best he good. For some reason, it felt as if the man had gotten even taller. He shook his head at that silly thought. He was on the floor after all, of course Facilier would look bigger.

The joven músico let out a pained sound as, whatever was wound around him, tightened even further. Glancing down at himself Miguel was first met with the sight of dark scales and the muscular body of a very, very gran serpiente. The snake from before had been big, but this one was ridiculously large in comparison. Then the boy saw what it was coiled around.

At first, it just didn't click into place. He saw the brown coat of hair, the four legs sprawled out in front of him, but he didn't realize what they meant. The joven músico looked around him in confusion. Where were his arms, his legs? He tried moving his right arm and startled a little when the right foreleg lifted off the ground.

"What–" And then Miguel got it, but really wished he didn't. Horror rose up in the twelve-year-old as he stared at the foreleg. "W-What did you do to me?" He asked in a fearful whisper.

"I only gave you what you wanted, mon ami. You can now enter the Land of the Dead whenever you like." The man grinned down at the boy, who shifted away as best he could. "Animals have no trouble crossing between the two worlds, you see."

"A-Animáls?" Miguel stuttered, hardly aware that his body had started shaking. "You turned me i-into an animál?!"

"A goat to be precise."

"Why?!" The boy yelled, panic apparent in his tone.

"Because that's what my friend on the other side hired me to do." The curandero answered with a shrug and mean smirk.

"Someone paid you to turn me into a goat?!" He shouted disbelievingly.

"He didn't specify what animal. He just wanted you transformed so that he could get his hands on you. And speaking of," Facilier seemed to be addressing the snake, much to Miguel's confusion. "you'd best be getting him to your master."

"I don't need you to tell me that, Shadow Man." The constrictor hissed back, its– his voice was a harsh whisper and heavy with a Mexican accent.

"You spoke?!" The cursed child gasped in disbelief and the serpiente turned towards him, slitted black pupils staring back intensely. Something else caught his attention though, and he gazed past the snake. From the flickering candles in the room, he caught sight of the snake's shadow, but there was something wrong with it. It was too big for one thing, its' head was longer than it should be, spikes seemed to sprout from the tail end, and two large shadowy masses seemed to extend from the silhouette's body.

"SSSilenccce boy, unlessss you want to become my nexxxt meal." The serpiente threatened menacingly, his words marred with a slight lisp. The reptile opened his mouth, revealing a pair of white dagger-like fangs that gleamed dangerously. Miguel automatically tried to get away, but the snake's hold on him tightened in response. That didn't stop the boy-turned-goat from trying to break free once the constrictor started slithering towards the door.

"Wait, stop! Where are we going?! What do you want from me?!"

"So long little mouche." Facilier called after him and Miguel's eyes widened when he saw the curandero's shadow wave goodbye, even though the man himself had both hands resting on the handle of his cane. "If there is a next time for you, don't be so quick to step into the spider's parlor." Before the joven músico could think of a retort, or simply devolve to screaming for help, familiar angry barks announced the arrival of Dante.

With a strength Miguel hadn't been aware of, his dog charged into the emporium, the purple door smacking loudly into the wall and leaving behind a small dent curtesy the handle. Oddly enough, he spotted a grey tabby cat standing in-between the Alebrije's front legs.

"Dante!" Miguel shouted with no small amount of relief.

"Miguel?!" While hearing the Xolo speak was definitely shocking, the boy had more important things to focus on at the moment.

"Dante, help!" The gato wasted no time. It raced forwards, dodged the lunging strike the snake aimed its way, and lashed out with its claws at the part of the reptile's body that was still wrapped around Miguel.

"Argh!" With a pained cry, the constrictor drew away, unintentionally releasing his prisoner. Now freed, the cursed child tried to get up and run, as he was still much too close to the serpiente for his liking, but he found his foreign limbs slip out from under him with every attempt to stand.

"Dante, get Miguel!" The cat ordered with a woman's voice.

"You're not going anywhere you little–" Facilier snarled as he went to grab the fumbling goat. He was cut off by the Xolo, who dashed forwards with his teeth bared in warning and snapped at the Shadow Man's hands, who tumbled backwards with a short yelp to avoid getting bit. Quickly picking Miguel up by the scruff of his neck, the Alebrije raced for the door. The cat, seeing this, abandoned her attack on the snake and followed after the two. By the time Facilier was back on his feet, the three animals were gone, and he was left with one very angry reptile.

"Huh, that didn't go as planned." The witchdoctor muttered while patting off some dirt from his clothes. The constrictor twisted towards him, letting out a dangerous hiss while baring its fangs at him. "Easy mon ami, this is just a minor setback–" He said before wincing a little. "A-And I've still got this!" He held up the skull pendant with a wide, nervous grin. "As long as you have Miguel's blood, he'll remain cursed." The snake sprung forwards, tearing the pendant from Facilier's hand, who let out a surprised shriek. "Er, right. You hang onto that." He cleared his throat, and straightened out his jacket. "Now, our business is complete?" He meant for it be a declaration, but his words came out too hesitant to be anything other than a question. The serpent nodded, the skull pendant dangling from its mouth, where it then proceeded to slink across the floor and out the door. "It was a pleasure working with you!" He called after the reptile as he pulled out his reward to admire once again. "And I'd be absolutely thrilled to do it again."

* * *

“Dante, you can put me down now. I think we lost them.” Miguel said after several minutes of being carried through the streets and back alleyways of Santa Cecelia. Being carried by the loose skin on the back of his neck was a weird experience, but that carrier being his dog was even more surreal.

“Miguel is right. We can stop here.” The gato agreed, sounding somewhat winded. With more tenderness than Miguel thought him capable of, Dante gently set him on the cobblestones, where the boy tried to remain upright on his four legs. His new appendages shook underneath him though and his hindlegs quickly gave out. He grimaced as he landed on his scruffy tail, but the foreign addition was quick to sort itself out. Feeling lost, scared, and smaller than ever, he turned to the other two animals, ears subconsciously tucked close to his head. “Oh, Miguelito…”

“What did that Shadow Man do to you, chico?” Dante asked sadly, his voice was a bit higher pitched than he would’ve guessed considering the Xolo had a deeper sounding bark.

“I– He–” Miguel couldn’t seem to get the words pass the lump in his throat. He glanced down at himself again, the brown pelt and small dark hooves making his stomach churn. He looked back up at Dante, and was dismayed to realize that his dog was bigger than him now. He barely came up to the Alebrije’s shoulders.

“You mudo mutt!” The cat yowled at Dante. “How could you let Miguel go to that Shadow Man?!” She demanded, her fur bristling as the Xolo lowered his head in shame.

“I tried to get him to turn around.”

“Well you should’ve tried harder! You should’ve barked and howled until someone came to investigate! You should’ve grabbed the foolish boy by his pantleg and dragged him back home!”

“Please don’t yell at Dante, señorá gato.” Miguel pipped up, unable to watch as his dog hunched in on himself, his tail curling under him pathetically. “He really did try to stop me. And I would’ve listened any other time but–”

“But what?!” She rebuked, redirecting her ire at him. “What was so important that you went looking for black magic? And after everything that happened a month ago! You know better!”

“…I just wanted to know if my Papá Héctor was okay.” The twelve-year-old confessed weakly, unable to help sniffling softly as his teared up a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He was just so worried, so afraid that he’d failed to keep his promise and that his great-great-grandfather was gone. Several surprising licks to his face had Miguel sputtering and pulled him out of his mood.

“Hey, don’t cry chico. It’ll be okay. We’ll get you back to normal.” Dante said kindly before glancing over at the gato. “Won’t we Pepita?”

“Pepita?” The cursed child echoed, blinking at the tabby who sat poised in a position that he could only describe as regal. His eyes caught the cat’s shadow, which, like the serpiente’s, looked much larger than it should. He could see the fuzzy shape of wings tucked close against the silhouette’s sides, and a pair of curved horns on its head. “It is you Pepita!”

“Hola Miguelito.” While he normally would’ve taken offense at such an embarrassing nickname, the twelve-year-old was smart enough not to say as much to Mamá Imelda’s Alebrije. Pepita sighed exasperatedly, sounding not unlike her owner. “Ay, you just can’t keep yourself out of trouble, can you?” He tried to give her a sheepish smile, but he wasn’t sure how well it worked, what with his new face. She studied him for a long moment before shaking her head. “This is a very powerful curse Miguelito. We had best get you to the Land of the Dead quickly.”

“Wait!” The joven músico cried, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Dante, you can tell me about Papá Héctor now!”

“I can?” The Xolo asked, pausing mid-scratch before he jumped up to his feet, his tail wagging madly. “I can!” He rushed forwards, nearly plowing Miguel over in his excitement. “Miguel, chico! You’re Papá Héctor is okay!”

“He is?!” He shouted happily, bouncing up on shaking legs, unware of how his ears perked up. “Really? So I did make it in time?” He frowned suddenly. “How come you always acted so sad whenever I asked though?” The Alebrije bowed his head, taking on that same dejected air now.

“Cause I couldn’t tell you he was okay.” Dante whined softly. “I knew how upset that made you, chico. I tried bringing his hat to show you as proof, but Papá Héctor always got it back before I could return to the Land of the Living.”

“It’s okay boy.” The boy instinctively reached out to pet his dog, but stopped when his foreleg came into view. “Oh, right.” He shook his head, pushing back growing sense of dread over this new curse, and smiled instead. “So, he’s really okay then?”

“Yep! He lives with the rest of the Rivera’s now. And he plays music all the time!”

“Unfortunately.” Pepita added haughtily and Miguel laughed, the relief he felt almost overwhelming. “Come, you can see him for yourself.” Miguel moved to follow the two Alebijes, only to find himself quickly tumbling to the ground.

“Uh, a little help please?” Pepita circled back to him, looking wholly unimpressed. “Hehe, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize Miguel.” She said in a no-nonsense tone that remined him of Mamá Imelda. “Just try again.” He did as he was told, frowning hard as his knees shook. “Now take it slow. Get used to your new sense balance first.” Once his legs felt a bit more stable, he lifted his right arm– foreleg– and took a step forwards. He paused, trying to figure out which limb to move next, before deciding on his right hindleg. “Don’t think about it so much. Just do what comes naturally.”

“I walk naturally on two legs.” The boy muttered under his breath and Dante snorted.

“What was that?” Pepita asked sharply.

“Nothing!” He ducked his head to avoid her piercing gaze, and took a deep breath. ‘ _Just don’t think about it._ ’ He repeated silently and shut his eyes. ‘ _Do what comes naturally._ ’ It was just walking. He could do this. The joven músico carefully took step after step, and slowly began to feel a little more secure on his legs. It wasn’t comfortable, or natural, but the more he moved the easier it got.

“Well done Miguelito.” Opening his eyes, the boy-turned-goat found that he’d walked to the end of the alleyway.

“Good job, chico!” Dante praised as he brushed his body alongside Miguel’s in a nudge-like gesture. “C’mon, I’ll race you to the cemetery!” The Xolo said as he stooped down into a playful crouch, his tail wagging like crazy.

“The cemetery?” The curse child questioned.

“To get to the Land of the Dead.” The tabby explained, her pace noticeably picking up as Dante took off down the street. Miguel wasn’t ready to run outright like his dog was doing, but he could keep up with Pepita’s jog. “The Marigold Bridges the decease cross every Día de los Muertos is made up of the petals laid out by the living, meaning it doesn’t exist right now.”

“Okay, so how will we get there?”

“Unlike humans, animáls don’t need the bridge to pass between the living and the dead.”

“Señor Facilier said something like that.”

“Humph, I suppose that no-good curandero would know something about the Land of the Dead.” They entered the graveyard a few minutes later, where they found Dante impatiently waiting by a plot of land that Miguel was already familiar.

“How come we’re going to the Rivera graves?” There was a total of seven headstones, one for each of his deceased family members, except for Papá Héctor of course. This made the boy wonder where his great-great-grandfather remains were buried. Had De La Cruz even made sure the man he’d murdered, his best friend, received a proper burial? He doubted it.

“This is how we’ll get to the Land of the Dead. As Imelda’s Alebrije, I am connected to her, just as Dante is connected to you. You see Miguel, every animál has the potential to become an Alebrije. In this form, you should be able to as well, and seeing as you are a member of the Rivera family–”

“You should be able to use Mamá Imelda’s tombstone to cross over just like us!” Dante interrupted Pepita, who rolled her eyes.

“Should?” The cursed child asked skeptically. The cat said nothing to reassure the boy, rather she moved towards the headstone, deciding actions spoke louder than words. She glanced back at Miguel once before walking straight into the memorial. Instead of crashing headfirst into stone, the slab began to glow a bright orange. It was a light that Miguel instantly recognized. It was the same glow that outlined him and the other spirits before entering the Land of the Dead. As Pepita seemed to disappear into the stone, a similar glow took over her form before she vanished completely. “Whoa, what happened?”

“She crossed over.” Dante answered with the dog equivalent of a shrug. “Go ahead chico, I’ll be right behind you.” Hesitantly approaching the gravestone, he stretched a hoof outward as a test. He half-expected it not to work, but to his relief his foot went through the stone. He pushed onwards, unconsciously holding his breath, and blinked rapidly as his surroundings immediately changed. Gone was the dark cemetery and in its stead, he was met with the familiar sights and sounds of the Land of the Dead.

“Wow…” True, it hadn’t been long since he’d been here, but the view was just as amazing and breathtaking as when he’d first seen it. He didn’t get to stare too long though as Pepita’s massive form soon stepped in front of him. Miguel had forgotten just how big the cat Alebrije was. Where he’d been about twice the size of the feline back in the Land of the Living, now Pepita was probably about five times his height.

“Hmm, you look good Miguelito.” Pepita commented, her voice still very much the same, though it was accompanied with a much deeper purr.

“Huh?” Looking down at himself, the boy gasped as he saw that his coat had changed colors. Where before he had been a solid dark brown, he now had a neon light blue undercoat and a bright red topcoat. His hooves were dual colored as well, a bright yellow at the base and florescent green at the tips. Looking behind him, he saw that multi-colored, different sized spots peppered his pelt, going from the tip of his tail and traveling up his back towards his neck. Did they continue up to his head too?

Miguel was suddenly broken out of his self-observations as Dante crashed into from behind.

“Oh wow, you look estupendo, chico!” The Xolo complimented from where he was sprawled across the boy-turned goat.

“Ugh, gracias Dante, but do you think you could get off me, boy? You’re a lot heavier now.”

“Oh, sorry!” Climbing back to his hooves, Miguel looked over his dog, unsurprised to see that he was now donning his bright Alebrije colors.

“Now what?” The joven músico asked he turned towards the much larger Alebrije.

“Now I take you to Imelda. Hopefully she’ll know how to help you.”

“…Right.” Despite being eager to see his familia again, especially Papá Héctor, the boy was not looking forward to seeing Mamá Imelda’s reaction to learning that he’d been cursed again. He hoped she was wearing slippers instead of boots.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there’s part two. Doing Dante is kind of hard. He’s lovable, but not that bright and that’s hard to get across now that he can talk. There’s a fine line between acceptable goofball and annoying idiot. Pepita is a little easier, I just imagine her being all regal and somewhat stern.
> 
> If you guys are curious, I imagine that Gabriel Iglesias is the voice of Dante. I know he was the clerk in the Department of Family Reunions, but he has a talent with voices. And for Pepita I imagine that Catherine Zeta Jones would make a good voice actress.
> 
> –Hexalys


	5. Third Pieza: Another Maldición Parte III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who took the time to leave a comment. I really appreciate it!
> 
> Okay, so the second part of this chapter is gonna come off a little different, as we’re gonna get some backstory here, as well as the reveal of just who this “friend” is that Facilier had been hinting at previously. Most of you may not be surprised, which is fine, it’s not like I was trying to be super subtle or anything. There was a foreshadowing clue written in Parte I. 
> 
> A few of you were asking why I decided to turn Miguel into a goat of all things. Well, a young goat is called a Kid, and Hector calls Miguel, chamaco, which translates to kid. It’s a layered pun. And yes, I am fully aware of how groan-inducing it is. I regret nothing!

Miguel did not like flying with Pepita this time around. Before, when he’d been human, he had ridden the Alebrije’s back; his hands clutching clumps of fur tightly and his legs secured on either side of the feline. Now, Miguel had no fingers to hold with, and although he had more legs, his small stature was a definite hindrance. This left them with one option. Pepita had to carry the boy with her hindlegs, where her bird-like feet could get a strong grasp around his torso.

The position was not unlike a hawk carrying its latest kill.

Fortunately, Miguel only had to suffer through the experience for a handful of minutes. And though his stomach churned a little, the cursed child had taken the opportunity to stare down at the flashing scenery with amazement. It was a sight he didn’t think he could ever grow tired of. As they flew, he heard pieces of songs floating through the air, and the smell of baked pastries reached his nose. People moved in crowds along the cobblestoned streets, their bones reflecting the city's nightlights. The main sources of color however, came from the different Alebrijes, who were practically walking glowsticks.

He still gave a sigh of relief when his hooves were once again on solid ground. He chuckled, as Dante’s landing was much less graceful than theirs. The Xolo stumbled, flipped, and finally crashed into cart full of fabrics.

“Ay, that mudo mutt.” Pepita huffed as Miguel trotted over to his dog with a grin.

“Dante, are you okay?”

“Huh?” The Alebrije’s head popped out of the mounds of cloth, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “Oh, sí. I’m fine chico!” As the dog struggled to climb out of the cart, the goat turned towards the annoyed feline.

“So, uh, where are the others?” He asked timidly, and the spirit guide raised a brow at him before gesturing towards the building before them. It was narrow and tall, with creamy stucco walls, a ceramic shingled roof, and a pair of orange shuttered windows on opposite sides of the house, the door firmly shut in-between them. A hand painted sign hung above the doorway: _Rivera Zapatos est. 1952_. “Oh.” He muttered softly, ears pinning themselves flat against his head. “Guess I should’ve figured Mamá Imelda would’ve continued the family business. Rivera’s are shoemakers, through and through.”

Suddely, Pepita let out a loud roar, startling the boy so badly he bleated in surprise. If he’d still had hands, they would’ve instantly moved to cover his mouth. With wide, horrified eyes, the twelve-year-old stared up at the large Alebrije and swallowed dryly.

“Did– did that come o-out of me?” He questioned feebly. The noise had sounded somewhat human, but more broken up and throaty, like something similar to a sheep’s baaing.

“Nice howl, chico!” Dante complimented, oblivious to how distressed Miguel was over the noise he’d made. Pepita, who’d look amused at first, frowned and dipped her head down, offering a comforting lick along the boy’s cheek.

“It will be alright Miguelito. Your familia will break this curse.” Miguel was stopped from replying when the front door to the house opened. He gulped at catching the familiar visage of his great-great-grandmother standing in the doorway.

“There you are Pepita.” Mamá Imelda said as she approached them, rubbing her hands off on the brown apron tied around her waist. “Where did you run off to all of a sudden?” She asked as she stroked her Alebrije’s fur. Miguel was dismayed to find himself just a little bit above knee-level with his ancestor and that he had to tilt his head all the way back to keep looking at her face. “Dante? What in the world are you doing back here? Have you come to try and steal Héctor’s hat again? You really should be in the Land of the Living with Miguel.” The Xolo lowered his head, offering an apology that the woman couldn’t understand. “And who’s this?” She blinked down at the Miguel in confusion and he offered her a nervous smile.

“Hola Mamá Imelda.” She looked about as shocked to see him as she had the first time he’d been cursed. Meaning, she gaped at him for a whole three seconds before speaking.

“…Miguel?” She asked lowly, quickly dropping to her knees. Her eyes raced over his body and the joven músico couldn’t help but curl in on himself a little.

“Sí.” She reached a hand out towards his head and he flinched a little before she ran her fingers through the fringe of his hair. It was a familiar gesture, one that made him think of his Mamá, and he leaned into it. Maybe he’d been overacting before? Mamá Imelda didn’t seem angry.

“What– How did this happen, mijo?”

“I… I was cursed.” He felt her hand still and he glanced up at her, regaining his uneasiness as he spotted the displeased expression on her face.

“What happened?” She repeated flatly, and the child wished he had fingers to fidget with. Something in his demeanor must’ve given him away however, because her attitude turned shrewd. “Miguel, if you’ve–”

“I was just so worried about Papá Héctor!” The boy interrupted her, his words coming in a rush as he tried to explain himself. “I didn’t know if I’d made it in time or if he’d disappeared before Mamá Coco could remember him! And I couldn’t sleep! I kept having these horrible pesadillas–” He didn’t notice his great-great-grandmother stiffen, her eyes shifting towards concern. “And– and Dante would a-always start whining when I a-asked! And I thought that m-meant Papá H-Héctor was g-gone a-and–” Miguel didn’t mean to start crying. He was just so sorry, so scared. What if he was stuck like this forever?! What if– He sobbed as Mamá Imelda picked him up in her arms, where he buried his face into her dress. “I’m s-sorry. I d-didn’t m-mean to get c-cursed a-again.”

“Hush, mijo, hush. It’s alright. Everything will be okay.” Imelda hummed as she held her great-great-grandson. How could one child be cursed twice within a span of weeks? Some trickster spirit must have it out for her family, that was only reasonable explanation at this point. And when she found said trickster, she’d introduce him to the backside of her toughest boots.

The matriarch of the Rivera family inwardly marveled at how small the boy now was. As goat, little more than a kid really, he was only about two feet tall. His coloring was, bizarrely enough, that of an Alebrije; vibrant and beautiful. Imelda glanced towards the hovering Alebrijes. Pepita was poised but somber, while Dante was bent over, his ears, tail, and wings tucked in a display of sadness.

The only exception was his eyes. While they now had the rectangular pupils that all goats possessed, the irises themselves were brown and entirely Miguel’s. She knew because he had same shade as her Héctor.

“There, there. Dry your tears, mijo.” Imelda said as pulled back to get a better look at her descendent. Miguel stared up at her with big brown eyes, the fur on his face matted, and she felt her non-existent heart break at the sight of him. “Come, tell me the rest of your story. I need to hear all of it, Miguel.” She watched the joven músico sniffle, his right foreleg rising up for a moment, before he sighed in defeat and lowered it back to her lap.

“I tried asking Dante about Papá Héctor.” The boy repeated in a raspy tone, his tiny body quickly tensing up. The dog whined softly, and she watched Miguel turn towards him, offering a weak smile. “It’s okay boy, this isn't your fault.” He looked back up at her and took a breath. “When I couldn’t get any answers… I-I tired stealing the guitar again.” Imelda bit back the very strong urge to start shouting at her great-great-grandson, and forced herself to nod instead. “But it didn’t work, so I–” He hesitated, watching her with wary eyes. “I went to the Tugurios.” She couldn’t hold her tongue at hearing that confession.

“Qué?!” She shouted, jarring the boy from her lap as she stood up and began pacing. “Of all the stupid stunts I’ve ever heard of, that has to be the most foolish!” Miguel hunched in on himself as his ancestor scolded and marched, cringing slightly every time her anger was directed at him. “Dios Mío! Why are all musicians idiotas?! And to go poking around the Tugurios of all places?! Ay! You should have your head reexamined niño!” Imelda continued this for another two minutes, until she transferred into a rapid-fire onslaught of Spanish that even Miguel had trouble following.

That was how Héctor Rivera found his wife, ranting at seemingly nothing in particular. He curiously peered around, wondering if the recipient of her ire had done the smart thing and taken cover, but the only ones present on the street were themselves and three Alebrijes. The two larger animals he knew. Pepita, his wife’s somewhat terrifying spirit guide, and Dante, his great-great-grandson’s silly Xolo. Héctor frowned and placed a protective hand on top of is straw hat, watching the dog suspiciously. The Alebrije had tried to steal his hat more than five times in the past month.

Lastly, there was the small goat sitting in front of his wife. It was a little thing, just a kid, and it seemed to be the subject of Imelda’s tirade, if the remorseful expression on its face was anything to go by. But what could a cabrito have done to make his ángel so angry?

“Uh, Imelda?” The músico called uncertainly from the doorway.

“You!” She shouted as she whirled on him, boot in hand, and he yelped at suddenly being the focus of her ire. “You didn't just give him your looks and love for music, you gave him your estupidez too!” Héctor raised his arms in defense, but it did no good. His world spun as the boot connected to the side of his skull. Having been on the receiving end of Imelda’s shoes many times before, he efficiently grabbed his head before it could fly off his shoulders, set it back in place, and offered a sheepish smile to mollify her fury. “Idiota! Somehow, I just know this is your fault!”

“Imelda, mi ángel, I don’t even know what–” He was cut off as the cabrito charged into his legs, nearly knocking the skeleton over.

“Papá Héctor!” The músico froze. He knew that voice! Looking down, he stared, stupefied at the colorful Alebrije that seemed to be trying to give him a hug.

“C-Chamaco?!” He stuttered before his eyes darted to Imelda, who still looked a little angry, but also concerned. He half-noticed that her boot was back on her foot, thank goodness. “Miguel– Why– What?” Hétor’s jaw almost fell off, but his wife was quick to set it back into place, though she did it with more force than was necessary. Recovering his demeanor somewhat, he crouched down, his ribcage and spine sticking up awkwardly, as he wrapped his hands around the animal– his great-great-grandson– to keep him still. “Why are you a goat?!” He watched, both horrified and spellbound as the boy’s ears tucked close to his head, familiar brown eyes swelling up with tears.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Imelda yelled as she smacked him upside the head. “I just got him to stop crying!”

“…You’re okay.” The twelve-year-old uttered softly as he began to cry. Héctor likely wouldn’t have heard had he not been stooped down so closely. “You’re r-really okay.”

“Of course I am, chamaco.” He answered, confused and worried. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I was so a-afraid.” Miguel sniffled as he tried to burrow closer to his relative. Héctor sensed what he was trying to do and quickly brought the boy into an embrace. “I-I thought I didn’t m-make it in t-time. I thought y-you were gone l-like C-Chicharrón.” The man grimaced in understanding as he hugged Miguel tighter, his hand stroking the boy’s shuddering back in comfort.

“Oh, no mijo. You did great.” He praised gently. Glancing up at Imelda, he saw that his wife was not immune to the teary reunion. He offered her a weak grin, knowing that his brush with the Final Death was something that still haunted her. He just hadn’t realized that it would haunt his great-great-grandson as well. “Hey, it’s okay chamaco. I’m right here. And thanks to you, I won’t be going anywhere for a very long time.” It still took a few more minutes to calm the boy down, and as Héctor muttered encouraging words, he carefully took in what had become of his mijo.

Miguel, from what he could see, really was a goat. Small hooves, stumpy little legs, a scruffy tail. To the músico’s surprise, he spotted a pair of tiny horns amongst his red hair. His eyes trailed the spots that covered the boy’s back, traveled up his neck, and decorated his face. The light blue undercoat was free from such markings, except for a small red dot located on his upper lip, mirroring the mark Miguel had in his human form.

“How did this happen, chamaco?” He asked once the boy stopped crying.

“He was just explaining that to me before you arrived, Héctor.” Imelda announced, her tone turning stern. “Apparently your great-great-grandson went to the Tugurios.” Where she and Miguel were expecting a loud reaction, the músico surprised them both as his entire frame slumped forwards.

“Dios Mío.” Héctor sighed heavily as he dragged a hand down his face. “You really are just like me, mijo.”

* * *

Far outside the city of lights and sounds, a cloaked figure sat outside the mouth of a cave located on a very small isle that was less than a mile wide in circumference. Several of these tiny, scattered, archipelagoes decorated the very outskirts of the Land of the Dead. They were all interconnected by subterranean tunnels and pitted with chasms that were rumored to be bottomless. Here the cold and dark seeped into the bodies of those trapped within, changing their white or yellowing bones to a putrid grey color, marking them for all to see. This was the place where those who’d committed terrible deeds in life, or even the afterlife, were sentenced to remain until the Final Death took them.

It was a prison known as Xibalba.

The cloaked man’s own bones were still as brilliantly white as they’d been four weeks ago when he’d been thrown upon the island’s shore. Though his once pristine outfit of ivory and silver was now torn and dirtied, much to the owner’s abhorrence.

This man was Ernesto De La Cruz, the greatest musician the world had ever known. Or at least, he used to be. All that fame and exaltation was gone now, his name spat upon by the masses that had adored him long after, and long into, death. The deshonrado celebridad knew who was to blame for his ruined reputation: the Rivera’s. More specifically, his old friend Héctor, and the loathsome little mocoso, Miguel. Ernesto’s face twisted into a hateful glower at the thought of the boy. Everything had been going wonderfully till that child had shown up, unburying almost a century old secret, and revealing the depths at which Ernesto had gone to seize his moment.

Now, despite the truth coming to light in the Land of the Dead, the deshonrado celebridad knew he still had a chance to preserve his status in the Land of the Living. Ernesto was not foolish, nor would he underestimate Miguel again. Though he had left little evidence from his murdering of Héctor, the fact that there was even the slightest possibility of being ousted filled the man with dread. His legacy among the living was all he had left now.

He had to do something. He had to shut the mocoso up for good. Yet with Miguel back in the Land of the Living, and seemingly out of Ernesto’s reach, he was forced to turn to other… options. Facilier was reliable– well, as reliable as a greedy conman could be. Fortunately, the way to secure the curandero’s services was something the deshonrado celebridad could still get ahold of. Even after a month, Ernesto’s mansion, though defaced and somewhat ransacked, had enough treasures stashed away within its walls to entice Facilier into tracking down and cursing Miguel.

The plan they’d brewed together had been simple enough. The curandero would transform the boy into an animal, admittedly Ernesto still wasn’t sure how he felt about that part of the scheme, and his Alebrije would bring the cursed child to the Land of the Dead. Then, Ernesto could get his revenge and make certain that his living memory would remain untarnished.

For the moment, all he could do was wait and stare at the city lights in the distance. He’d had plenty of time to fantasize and ruminate on what he was going to do to Miguel. Torture was not something Ernesto could envision carrying out himself. For all that he was willing to kill Héctor, and then his supposed great-great-grandson to secure his fame, he could hardly muster that sort of cruelty. Even for the mocoso who’d ruined everything. But he couldn’t simply throw the boy into another hole and expect for his problems to be solved. He’d tried that before after all. He wouldn’t even taunt the Rivera’s by dangling the child in front of them before ending his life before their very eyes.

No. There would be no delays this time, no theatrics.

He would speak with Miguel one last time, discover what the mocoso may have said or done in the Land of the Living, and then feed the child to his Alebrije. The deshonrado celebridad gave a grim smile, his fingers tightening into fists at that thought. Yes, he’d had this planned out for days, weeks. So instead of revisiting those drawn-out imaginations, the man found himself reminiscing over when he’d first met his Alebrije.

Ernesto had been ten years old when he found the Boa Constrictor hiding underneath the ramshackle shed behind his house. Like any boy that age, snakes, lizards and other creepy crawlies were considered cool; so rather than jump back with a scream, or tell his parents, he’d simply crouched down, kept his distance, and watched the reptile with avid fascination. It was the biggest serpiente he’d ever seen, all black and grey with small white splotches decorating its scales.

He named the snake El Rey Oscuro.

What Ernesto hadn’t known back then was that the constrictor had broken out of captivity some days beforehand, and that his species was indigenous to jungles. So, the dry, almost desert-like environment of Santa Cecelia, was harsh for Rey to survive in, leaving him weak and emaciated.

It hardly took more than a day for him to fall in love with Rey, who became his secret pet. Every day he would bring a large bowl of water and filch some meat from the fridge. The water always needed to be refilled, but the stolen bits of beef and chicken were hardly ever eaten. Ernesto had known Rey was supposed to eat live animals, but he’d naively hoped that leftovers from his meals would’ve been enough. When he saw that it wasn’t, however, the boy had not hesitated to provide for his new friend.

His family had lived close to Señor Najarro’s farm. The man had had so many chickens, the boy had figured he wouldn’t notice if a few went missing. The first time he witnessed Rey wrap himself around the squawking hen, squeezing until it went silent, and then swallowing it whole had been… mesmerizing. Ernesto had waited a couple of days until the bird-shaped bulge in Rey’s body was gone, and then he snuck back out at night to steal another hen.

For weeks, this was how things went. The young De La Cruz had spent all of his time with the Boa Constrictor. He told Rey about his about his family, about Santa Cecelia, about that orphaned boy Héctor, who’d taken to following him around town whenever he was out and about. He’d whispered confessions about how much his Papá drank, and how the man would sometimes hit him or Mamá when he got angry. He’d spoken of his dream to become famous one day, of becoming a movie star or musician. After several nights passed, Rey would even slither over and drape himself around Ernesto, allowing the boy to pet him gently as he soaked in some warmth to battle against the evening’s low temperatures.

Sadly, it hadn’t taken Señor Najarro long to notice his livestock getting smaller, and the farmer bought a pair of big guard dogs to protect the henhouses. Ernesto, on his next attempt, had gotten a bad bite mark on his leg and no chicken to give Rey. The boy tried again two nights later, but almost ended up getting shot by Señor Najarro’s shotgun as he fled with the dogs chasing after him. Ernesto had at least been grateful that it’d been so dark. If Najarro had seen him, and told his Papá– The boy had known he couldn’t risk going back there again.            

It was three days later, six days since El Rey Oscuro had eaten, when the young De La Cruz began to panic. He tried catching wild animals, but the lizards were too quick, the wild hares too nimble, and the pigeons had flown away every time they saw him coming. Héctor, surprisingly, had aided him a little. The younger boy had seen him trying to catch a gecko in the plaza square one day and had offered to help. He’d managed to get ahold of three little lizards. Ernesto had decided back then, as he’d fed each one to Rey, that maybe the orphan wasn’t as annoying as he’d first thought.

The lizards of course, hadn’t been enough, not for a snake of Rey’s size. Ernesto had started to fear the worst when he heard from Gloria Martinez, a young girl who’d lived down the road from him, that her gato had birthed a litter of seven kittens. He hadn’t been able to look at Gloria when she came to school two days later, teary-eyed and telling anyone who would listen that all of her kittens had gone missing. He’d gone home feeling so guilty that he hadn’t been able to stomach his dinner that night.

He’d worried for the next few days, stressing over how he was going to get more food for Rey. He couldn’t– wouldn’t– feed him another person’s pet. His concerns turned out to be unnecessary in the end. He was walking home one afternoon when Ernesto had heard his Papá shouting the word serpiente at the top of his lungs. He’d broken into a run, tearing past his Mamá’s shaking form in the kitchen, and headed for the backyard. His father stood at the mouth of the shed, a rusty hoe in hand, while Rey had hissed at him from where he was coiled up on the ground. Ernesto hadn’t faltered for a second.

The ten-year-old had plowed into his Papá with all the strength he’d possessed, knocking the half-drunk man over easily. Uncaring of the curses and threats his father hurled after him, Ernesto had only stopped long enough to pick Rey up in his arms before making a break for it. The snake had been heavy, but he’d also been leaner from the lack of food, and the young De La Cruz had always been big for his age. He’d raced through the streets of Santa Cecelia, unsure of where he was going, and ended up hiding in the local cemetery. He’d instinctively headed towards the tombstone of his Mamá’s father, Papá Emilio, who’d passed away four years ago.

His life had gotten so much worse once his Abuelo had passed away.

Laying Rey at the base of the grave, Ernesto had allowed himself a moment to think about what he’d done. His Papá would be furious. The boy had known he would be getting the belt that night, but he hadn’t regretted his actions. That didn’t mean he’d been in any hurry to get home. It was only long after the sun had set, that he’d regretfully stood up from where he’d been tracing his fingers along the constrictor’s smooth scales.

“I’ll come back later tonight, Rey.” Ernesto had sworn, eyeing his pet with worry. “I promise, just stay here.” And the boy kept his promise. Yet when he’d returned to the graveyard several hours later, sporting many welts on his back, he’d been heartbroken to find that Rey was gone.

As he’d grown older, Ernesto never forgot about the snake he’d adopted as his own. And when he’d died so unexpectedly in 1942, he was reunited with his old friend in the Land of the Dead. Not many people knew he had an Alebrije, and if they did, then they were under the assumption that it was the three chihuahuas the musician was so fond of. El Rey Oscuro was one of his best kept secrets, second only to the fact that he’d killed Héctor Rivera and stolen his songs.

Ernesto hadn’t kept Rey a secret because he was ashamed of his Alebrije, far from it. Rather, he’d been worried about how his fans would’ve reacted to his Alebrije’s appearance. For while Rey had been an impressive snake in the Living world, in the Land of the Dead, he was far more… intimidating.

The deshonrado celebridad was broken out his musings as a roar-like hiss boomed from above him. Where most would’ve startled at the ferocious noise, Ernesto openly smiled. It was a massive serpiente, stretching over 30 feet long, and with a pair of giant dark gray bat wings flapping on either side of his body. Unlike most Alebrijes, whose appearances were flushed with vibrant glowing patterns and colors, his spirit guide was a severe contrast. Rey was practically monochromatic, a color scale of greys and black. Only the long spines on his tail, which were a bright venomous purple, seemed to be the solitary splash of color.

El Rey Oscuro landed in front of his master and bowed low, so that the man could pet his head. Gone was angular shape of a constrictor and its place was the head of a crocodile, his maw now full of teeth, though his irises, now red instead of black, were still slitted. Ernesto frowned when he saw no child, nor animal for that matter, in sight.

“Where is the boy, Rey? You haven’t eaten him, have you?” The deshonrado celebridad asked as he ran his hand over his Alebrije’s scaly snout. “I told you to wait.” The serpiente shook his head before dropping something small at the man’s feet. “And what is this?” He bent down to pick it up, frowning as he saw that it was a plain necklace with a skull ornament at the end. “You bring me jewelry? Where is Miguel?!” He went to toss the necklace over his shoulder and shouted in surprise as his Alebrije dove after it, accidentally knocking Ernesto over in the process. “Ay, what is wrong with you Rey?!” He shouted as he straightened his tattered outfit and readjusted his cloak.

The snake Alebrije gave a low, rumbling hiss before gently placing the necklace at Ernesto’s feet. The deshonrado celebridad gave the creature a skeptical glance before bending down and picked the trinket back up, studying it with more interest.

“This… is important?” The man guessed after a moment, and his spirit guide nodded. “Does it have to do with Miguel?” Again, Rey nodded, his eyes narrowing in what Ernesto assumed to be irritation. “You don’t have the mocoso, do you?” He demanded suddenly, and his pet shook his head. “Did that timador at least complete his end of the deal? Is Miguel cursed?” Another nod. “Well then, how did the little fool escape you, Rey?” Here the beast turned, revealing four shallow scratches stretched across his back. “Are those claw marks? Something attacked you?” More nodding. “Another Alebrije.” Ernesto surmised. The only spirit guide he knew to belong to the Rivera’s was that damnable feline. “Was it some sort of cat?” The man swore when the serpiente dipped his head in answer. “The mocoso will have been taken to Héctor and the rest of his familia by now!” Outraged that his plan had already been thrown off course, the deshonrado celebridad kicked a nearby stone, which went hurtling into the cave with a long set of echoes.

Ernesto was pulled out of his fuming mood by a gentle nudge at his back. Without thought, he lifted his arm and started petting Rey, lightly tracing his dark scales in thought. He had no choice, he had to go after the boy now. And if he needed to go through Miguel’s family to get his hands on the little mocoso, then so be it. With a deep chuckle, he eyed his pet, who peered back at him with a hungry expression.

“Well my dearest friend, it looks like we’ll have to hunt down our prey.”

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I debated on how I wanted the reunion between Hector and Miguel to go and decided that, since Hector’s fate was something the boy had agonized over, it’s only logical it would be full of tears. I also sorta wanted to both melt and break your hearts a little. 
> 
> I must admit that Ernesto coming from a broken home was not my idea, rather it was inspired after reading a story posted over on AO3 called For Whom The Bell Tolls written by im_fairly_witty. If you haven’t checked out some of the stories over on AO3, I seriously suggest you do so. In any case, I like layered characters, and while greed is a good motivator for a villain, it can often have them coming off a little flat. Not that I found Ernesto lacking in the movie! I quite enjoyed his vain, avaricious, and somewhat prissy attitude. 
> 
> –Hexalys


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